BECAUSE OF HIS SIZE, THE MAFIA BOSS WAS REJECTED BY EVERY WOMAN — UNTIL A CLUMSY BAKER AGREED TO BECOME HIS BRIDE I came to the mountain estate expecting to marry a Mafia boss I had never met.

Elena caught my sleeve, guiding me into the stone archway of the adjoining library while Luca stepped onto the terrace to take a call from Milan.

The library was cavernous, smelling of aged parchment and cedar. Heavy velvet curtains framed the panoramic view of Lake Como’s twilight waters below.

"Elena," I whispered, rubbing my forearm where my suitcase had bruised me. "What do you mean, something he doesn't know?"

Elena leaned against a mahogany pedestal, folding her arms. The sharp, guarded expression she had worn in the foyer softened into something fierce and protective.

"Your father’s debt," Elena said quietly. "Did he tell you Luca threatened him?"

"My father told me our bakery in Chicago was facing foreclosure from an overseas creditor tied to the Moretti family," I admitted. "He said if I agreed to marry the head of the family, the debt would be wiped clean."

Elena let out a short, humorless breath. "Your father didn't lie about the debt, Sophia. But he lied about who held the knife."

She pulled an antique leather ledger from the shelf behind her, opening it to a certified banking dispatch stamped six months ago.

"Eight years ago, when Luca was eighteen and fighting for his life during our family’s succession war, he was ambushed in the alley behind your father’s bakery in Chicago. He had two bullet wounds. Your father pulled him inside, hid him in the flour pantry, and gave him clean clothes and warm bread. He never asked for a dime. He never called the police."

My heart gave a sudden, heavy thump. "My dad helped him?"

"Luca never forgets a debt of honor," Elena said softly. "Six months ago, when our cousin Julian Vance secretly bought up your father’s bakery loans to foreclose on him, Luca stepped in. Luca paid off the entire four-hundred-thousand-dollar mortgage in cash from his personal accounts."

"Then why am I here?" I asked, bewildered. "Why did the contract say marriage?"

Elena stepped closer, her dark eyes piercing mine. "Because our Aunt Beatrice and Julian slipped that stipulation into the old family charter. Under Moretti law, a capo must take a bride before his thirty-third birthday or forfeit his seat on the High Council. Five high-society heiresses have walked into this foyer over the last two years. Every single one of them was paid two million dollars by Julian to scream, call Luca a deformed monster, and run away at the altar."

Tears pricked behind my eyelids as the pieces clicked together.

"They wanted to break him publicly," I whispered.

"They want him stripped of his rank," Elena nodded grimly. "Julian wants Luca declared psychologically unfit because of his size and his scars. Julian expects you to run tonight. He has cameras and three council elders waiting in the chapel to witness his sixth rejection."

Elena reached out, her fingers gently touching my knuckles.

"Luca thinks you were forced here. He thinks you will look at him with disgust like the rest of them. If you walk into that chapel and say yes, Sophia, you are not saving a bakery. You are saving my brother’s life."

I looked through the glass doors onto the terrace.

In the falling twilight, Luca stood at the stone balustrade, his massive six-foot-six frame silhouetted against the purple sky. The wind ruffled his dark hair, catching the faint, jagged line of an old scar running from his ear to his jaw. He looked like an ancient, lonely titan holding up the sky, expecting the world to crumble beneath his shoulders.